


In the Midst of Tedium

by epaynter



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epaynter/pseuds/epaynter
Summary: Officer Holt continues to struggle at adjusting to his demotion with no noticeable improvements so Kevin decides to surprise him in the hopes of reminding him what matters more than a title.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Comments: 11
Kudos: 101





	In the Midst of Tedium

Winter of 2020, New York.

Officer Holt had been miserable for the last two weeks and counting, with the pit of despair deepening every day. Humiliation tugged at his stiff, unfamiliar dark blue uniform. Nothing could begin to wash away the nightmare of stepping into the Nine-Nine adorned in it for the first time with a sea of faces that had previously looked at him with respect and admiration, now showing nothing but confusion and poorly disguised pity.

While it is true that he hadn’t finished the required amount of time as a uniformed officer; he feels like he has more than paid his dues in the years he spent wasting away in the public affairs office.

 _You did this to yourself,_ he reminds himself, _you couldn’t help bragging to Wuntch like a fool and here you are._

Last night, he had hit an all-time low when Kevin found him in a thin unironed and uninscribed robe with a pint of vanilla bean ice cream, speed reading through the Urban Dictionary on his laptop.

"Raymond."

"Kevin."

His husband had been standing the arched entryway of their study room that Raymond had been occupying at the time. Not looking directly at him had seemed like the best course of action, given the situation. The last thing he had needed to see was his immaculately dressed _raison d’etre_ looking down on him. Both literally and figuratively.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Negative. I will request a vibe check if I feel it necessary."

"I’m sorry _a what now_?"

Raymond could almost hear his husband’s eyebrows through his tone. Most likely the left one had been raised with the right one furrowing. He had plopped another spoonful of half-melted ice cream into his mouth as a response.

"Nevermind. I’m not quite sure I want to know," Kevin had sighed, "How was your day?"

"Identical to yesterday. Which had been identical to the day prior. And I’m sure you can infer how the day prior to _that one_ had been."

"What about Officer Fogle?"

"Officer Fogle is fine. We are counting steps together. I’ve hit the peak of tedium in my career but thank god at least my pedometer is advancing."

"Clearly you are processing this well."

"Clearly."

Kevin had given up shortly after, excusing himself to begin his nightly routine. Raymond had finished with the entire website in less than twenty minutes after that, rinsed out the remaining liquid dairy in the container, and tossed it in the disposal bin with more force than had been necessary. The designated disposal bin for the waste material, of course.

He was significantly depressed not entirely despondent.

He had slept horribly which is why he is currently sitting in the breakroom staring at his lukewarm black coffee in a styrofoam cup. Debbie is to his right. She is talking about bathmats, flipping through a Bath & Bodyworks catalogue, between bites of sandwich she had forgotten to eat at lunch.

"It’s almost too fuzzy if y’know what I mean? I feel like I would get clumps of fuzz stuck between my toes."

"Sounds unhygienic."

"See? You get it. And this one here looks like a bunch of little worms sewn to a rug but they do have memory foam."

"Ah."

"But between you and me," Debbie leans towards him with a hushed voice, "memory foam is a little too fancy for these feet. Like who am I, Mariska Hargitay?"

He stares at her blankly. She stares back with a vacant smile.

"No. You are Debbie Fogle."

It is all he can offer in return as the last two words out of her mouth had sounded like a newly discovered disease.

"Yes I am," She exclaims.

 _And I am Raymond Holt,_ he thinks, _sitting here fifteen minutes past the required work hours because I’ve lost the respect of my dog and childishly pushed away my husband._

"Hey, sir," Peralta’s head swings into view around the breakroom door and Raymond has never been more grateful to be addressed by someone other than Officer Fogle, "And Debbie."

"Detective Peralta."

"Hi, Jake! Officer Holt and I were just discussing bathmats."

"That’s cool," Jake says. He looks exactly how Raymond feels except with the additional effort of forced exuberance in the form of a painful-looking grin that he still could not begin to comprehend how Jake maintained for long periods, " _Very cool_."

"Yes, I agree. Bathmats _are_ cool," Debbie responds, fixated on the detective.

"Uh _huh_. So anyway, sir- Kevin’s here and looking for you. I was talking to him for a while because I wasn’t sure if you had already left. The coffee machine obstructs the view through the window."

"Kevin is here?" He replies, perplexed.

"Yes, and his beard is as gorgeous as ever."

He stands up and throws out his coffee with haste. As he walks through the doorway, placing a hand briefly on Peralta’s shoulder as he passes, he catches the following conversation:

"Did Officer Holt forget date night?"

" _What?_ No, Debbie, it’s just a surprise visit."

"Sorry. I really don’t know anything about romance. Dating is _a lot_ of hard work that I’m just not built for."

"Kevin."

The man is sitting in the chair beside Peralta’s desk with one leg crossed over the other, immersed in discussion with Sergeant Santiago. She is leaning against the desk next to Kevin, hands clasped together, as she animates a narrative to him. Raymond is not in close enough proximity to hear. Kevin is wearing a brown overcoat (a favorite of Raymond’s) and a familiar navy blue scarf. Both turn their heads in his direction, "Santiago."

"Raymond," Kevin responds. His husband’s tone is softer than usual and worry begins to gnaw at the back of his mind despite himself.

"Hi, sir," Santiago also replies cheerily, "I was just thanking Kevin for the book recommendation before heading out."

"No thanks necessary, Sergeant, I’m glad it was enjoyable."

"It was an in-depth look at quantitative comparative linguistics- incredible read," She addresses him before turning back to Kevin with a warmth the entirety of the squad seems to use whenever addressing his husband, "Feel free to text me if you think of any others. Seriously, I have been _flying_ through my backlog ever since Charles got Jake hooked on the reality show 90 Day Fiance."

"I’m going to assume that is as horrible as it sounds."

"Oh, it’s worse. Much worse."

After a quick exchange of goodbyes, she leaves in the direction of the elevator.

Raymond turns his attention solely towards his husband, "Is everything alright?"

There is far too much tension in his query.

 _Nothing is wrong. There is no indication there is anything amiss. Kevin is fine. Nothing is wrong. He is here. He is alive,_ Raymond thinks, _nothing is wrong._

It returns to him with vivid detail in the most illogical of instances. A voice, a phrase. _You tell your husband, Kevin, I'll see him real soon._ Nearly two years passing had only lessened the intrusive thought, not erased it entirely.

"Yes, why wouldn’t it be?" His blue eyes are searching him now, "I would have called but I was hoping to surprise you, actually."

Relief washes over him. Tension is replaced with acute (but entirely self-contained, thank god) embarrassment of his mental leap to an outlandishly wrong conclusion. Desired, obviously.

Still. An embarrassing instinct on his part.

"Consider me surprised, Doctor," Raymond, "What’s the occasion?"

"I’ve come to steal my husband away from the tedium for an hour or two, if he happens to be available."

"He is. Steal away."

He is brought to a brick building approximately fifteen minutes from the Nine-Nine. It appears to Raymond as some sort of recreational center at first glance. Once they are out of the car and walking towards the entrance, the worn-out sign comes into view.

"Hammond Ice Rink?"

"It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to attend a class or a program together. I thought we could skate and you could teach me as a little…productive activity for the two of us."

Raymond had known Kevin never learned to skate, claiming in the past there was not enough purpose in obtaining the skill and no structured recreational classes to counterpose this. He, himself, on the other hand, had enjoyed the activity a great deal in his youth. He helped Hurricane Debbie practice her figure skating techniques until she gave up the hobby when she was twelve.

"How did you come up with this idea?" He asks, "You are not prone to impromptu, grandiose gestures by nature."

"I needed an unpredictable suggestion so I outsourced."

"Meaning you asked Peralta?"

"Yes. Jake told me he used to come here for what was called _‘Ice Buddies Free Skate Hour’_ with Gina every Thursday afternoon when they were kids so he asked the owner for a favor. He gave me the keys at the precinct. Apparently, Gina found a way to increase his profit margins while she worked here in high school and he has been thankful ever since," Kevin explains as he unlocks the door.

"That doesn’t surprise me- Gina is a gift."

"Agreed."

The lights are already on when they walk inside. Passing through the main entrance and by a lockerroom corridor to the right, Raymond is greeted with an ice rink packed tightly within the surrounding structure. The rink side that parallels them has three sets of installed wooden bleachers along the wall. The side they currently occupied could barely fit two benches comfortably without one being pressed up against the boards. There are two pairs of skates on the cement floor with a sticky note attached.

_Hi Kev and Sir,_

_Here are your rental skates and you guys can leave the keys in the mailbox when you’re done._

_Now go teach ~~dad~~ Kevin some skating!_

_Jake_

Raymond tucks the note into his shirt pocket.

"My initial idea had been an evening of the board game _Settlers of Catan_ with Jake, Amy, and Rosa."

"Sensible in theory. However, in practice with Santiago, it would be a blood bath."

"Which is also what Jake said when I mentioned it so I explained the goal I had in mind. Based on that, he and I came up with this."

Raymond hands the correctly sized pair to Kevin and they sit themselves down, each on a separate bench, facing one another.

He makes quick work of his own skates before he asks, "And that goal was to choose an activity you have no experience in?"

"The temporary demotion stripped you of your leadership and I know how hard that has been for you," Kevin answers quietly, "It doesn’t compare to the command of an entire precinct but I thought it might be a suitable distraction. Or rather, a reminder of what a title can never take from you, Raymond."

Kevin finishes tying the laces on his pair of borrowed skates, proceeds to stand up while wobbling only slightly, and Raymond is fighting every atom in his body not to throw himself on the rosy-cheeked professor who has never had blades attached to his feet prior to this moment.

For all of the words in the English language, there isn’t one on its own Raymond has found that could quantify the man. Several come to mind. Enthralling. Paradisiacal. Stimulating. _Hallowed._

The irony of the last one is not lost on him.

"As a side note; we do need to be out of here before quarter to seven. They have to clean the ice before the neighborhood’s junior hockey practice. Shall we?"

Kevin waits with his back leaning against the board nearest to the opening. There is a muted, controlled hesitation in his posture.

 _Endearing_ , Raymond adds.

He stands and strides past him, stepping down on the untouched ice. He turns, adjusting his motion to the balance of the blade against the surface, and holds out his hand for Kevin to take.

"I am trying to think of a word to describe you."

"Trying to? Should I be concerned that none come to mind?"

Kevin has a death grip around his open palm as he puts one skate down onto the ice.

"Plenty come to mind," Raymond uses his free arm to steady his husband by the shoulder, "None feel adequate."

Both skates now, unmoving. Kevin’s other hand finds solace in clenching the fabric of Raymond’s uniform just above his navel.

"Which foot should I move first?"

After ten minutes of detailed instruction, Kevin is managing to skate (it is far from graceful but better than most novices- his husband has always been a quick study in anything he applies himself to) without Raymond acting as a constant pillar for balance and so Raymond decides to do a few laps of the rink, watching Kevin from a distance as he does so.

His professor’s focus is primarily on the ice beneath his blades and Raymond finds the subtle determination expressed through the curve of his eyebrows briefly reminds him of a much younger Kevin Cozner. One that had been a little less confident and slightly more flustered but equally as mesmerizing.

Skating back over to him, he inquires, "How are your strides coming along, Doctor?"

"You tell me," Kevin returns with a teasing undertone.

"Much improved in the last half an hour."

"Thanks to the proper guidance."

Raymond thinks there is no else in existence that could compete with this man. The weight of his professional derailment seems insignificant in the present moment as there is a much more pressing matter at hand. Kevin tumbles slightly forward as he tries to adjust his footing and Raymond wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him against his own sturdy form.

It comes to him then, as he observes his husband sheepishly, a word he would scarcely use to depict him, murmuring an apology for the sudden impact and flushed by both the temperature and the exercise.

"I’ve found the word."

"Pray tell," Kevin says.

Raymond can feel the warmth of his fingers through the cotton fabric of his shirt, his husband still cocooned in his embrace, "Pulchritudinous."

The incredulous, flabbergasted expression on Kevin’s face is the wondrous result of every dictionary he has ever read over the years and Raymond is smiling fully, teeth and all, in full anticipation of the request that would follow such a statement.

"Spell it for me. Right now."

_You are my world, you charming, perceptive, pulchritudinous man._

**Author's Note:**

> Pulchritudinous _adjective_ ; physically beautiful or attractive. It is rare and usually used for humorous effect.
> 
> This was intended final chapter of ' _A Study of Marriage in Four Acts_ ', now companion piece, and honestly, I am so glad I changed it because I'm really happy with this work. I love love _love_ words. Holt loves words as well so it is probably my favourite sandbox to play in.


End file.
